


You Changed the Melody

by ViridianRock



Category: 1700s RPF, 1800s RPF, Alexander Hamilton - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1700s, 1800s, Alternate Reality, Comfort, Devotion, Diary/Journal, F/M, Family, Fluff, Hurt, Injury, Letters, Pregnancy, Reynolds Pamphlet, Romance, Time Travel, affair, courting, daddy!Philip, duels, flirtyPhilip, grandpa!Alexander, piano playing, repairing broken relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViridianRock/pseuds/ViridianRock
Summary: Charlotte Hosack had been written completely out of the narrative that is history. A woman whose very existence is disputed by historians is determined to change Philip Hamilton's story. Will Charlotte be able to save Philip and stop the tragedies that his death set into motion?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my dear reader! First of all I would like to thank you for reading my first story on this fantastic website. Second I do not own the Hamilton's in anyway or form or any other historical characters. I do however own the Bates family. Please enjoy and comment on this story. Constructive cristcism is appreciated but please no flames.

_**Dead Hearts-Stars** _

My very first memory is of my mother’s back. I remember the way that her short auburn hair brushed her collar; the way that her floral print dress hugged the slant of her shoulders and the small curve of her hip. I can recall perfectly the scratch mark on the heel of her black flats; it was from Granny’s dog that had jumped on her. I remember the smell of her perfume a cheap brand from a corner drug store that she got on sale. I also distinctly remember the sound of her closing the door separating the two of us forever.

The memory that I always recall next was when I was seven. I sat on my grandmother’s potting table out in the old greenhouse. My skirt covered in soil and the smell of sunshine and herbs filling my senses. Her wrinkled hand covered by old soft leather gloves as she mussed my long hair when I recited the name and uses of the various plants. But most of all I recall a small painted portrait of a man that she had on her desk that had a small golden locket draped over the small wooden frame. She never let me touch it and would say “You’ll understand when you’re older” eventually I stopped asking. All of that seems so very long ago now. 

I stood leaning against the greenhouse doors now a nineteen year old womanin the 21st century. My eyes closed as the gentle breeze played with my hair and knee length skirt. It’s been fifteen years since my mother left me to the care of my grandmother and now I was the one caring for her. Catherine Bates was now sixty nine years old and far too ill to even sit in her much loved green house or flower garden and it pained me. My grandmother who raised me in our little patch of rural Maine, who taught me the healing properties of herbs, and regaled me with tales from my Grandfather’s history books, was old.

With a sigh I gently pushed off from the door of the now dead greenhouse and began to walk up the small path to our house. I looked up at what had at one point been a grand colonial home had fallen to some disrepair but it was my home; the only home that I could ever recall having. I walked up the steps that led to the back door and allowed my hand to brush over the notches that had marked my growth as a child. Opening the screen door and stepping inside I heard my Grandma’s record player spilling its music down the stairs from the second floor. I smiled slightly, today was a good day she wasn’t in pain if she managed to make it to her sewing room from her bed. I opened the large china cabinet that stood beside the door and pulled out her hand painted rose tea set and busied myself preparing us a small lunch. I carefully picked up the tray with its contents and began to walk up the wide staircase that led to the second floor.

“Granma are you in your sewing room?” I called down the hall as I reached the top of the stairs.

“I’m in here Charlotte!” She responded cheerfully from down the hall. I giggled softly and walked carefully balancing the tray into her sewing room. I walked in and I saw my grandmother sat in her large embroidered chair that faced out the large window which gave a view of the small woodland we that had out back. I smiled and walked to the table and chair beside her noticing her eyes were closed with her thick leather journal clasped in her wrinkled hands that once braided my hair. I set down the tray and turned off the record player stopping Mozart’s Concerto half way through a swell of stringed instruments. I sat in the chair across from her and smoothed my green skirt carefully. I watched as Grandma breathed in deeply and opened her eyes setting down her journal beside the tea tray.

“Charlotte you are such a dear.” She cooed reaching out and picking up her cup and saucer taking a sip before fixing the shoulder of her sweater. I took a sip of my tea and looked at the open drawer of her desk and saw several old looking letters poking out from a wooden box on top of the desk. Grandma noticed what I was looking at and coughed slightly. My eyes turned immediately to her.

“I saw you out and about the greenhouse today. Were you tending to the herbs?” she seemed so hopeful at the prospect of me fixing up the plants. I shook my head gently and set down my cup and saucer. 

“No I just needed to clear my head after getting back from Pammie’s house. You know all the plants are dead anyway Grandma.” I replied our identical blue-green eyes meeting. With a quiet sigh and a smile Grandma shook her head. 

“It’s such a shame some of those herbs started from cuttings of plants that were over a hundred and fifty years old. Did Pammie Coulson upset you my dear?” She asked me sipping at her tea. I shrugged looking at her with a sad little smile. 

“Pammie was just trying to set me up with one of her work friends. I told her I wasn’t interested in meeting Henry and then she began questioning why I won’t go on dates.” Granma looked at me with an understanding twinkle in her eye as she fiddled slightly with her wedding band after setting her cup on the arm of her chair. 

“Remember what I said Charlotte good things and people come to those who are patient.” She patted my knee in what I assume was an attempt at comfort but I stood suddenly.

“You’ve always said that Gran but the way you say it makes it sound as if you know something more than you are telling me!” I burst out in slight irritation.

“You homeschooled me my entire childhood, I know more about the 17 and 1800s than most historians.” I cried pointing at the numerous history books scattered along the rooms five tall bookshelves.

“For Christ sake I’ve never even kissed a boy! Do you have any idea what that’s like as a nineteen year old?” She just smiled at me and I sunk back into my chair feeling slightly ashamed about my outburst.

“Charlotte you will understand why soon enough child. You’ve always been so patient even as a small child. I just ask you for a little more patience love. Can you do that for me?” she asked squeezing my hand gently. I carefully grasped her hand between mine and looked her in the eye.

“Of course Gran, always. I don’t know why I did that.” She pat my cheek then gave a toothy smile.

“Well I can! Pammie Coulson is a right bitch!” She howled with laughter as I blushed giggling slightly. 

“Gran!” I gasped out between fits of giggles. I watched as my grandmother’s smile took on a gentler look and she mussed my long hair slightly.

“You remind me so much of your Grandfather Charlotte. Charles was so much like you at your age. Towards the end though he wrote as if he knew his time was short and would spend hours poring over the books in his downstairs study. He died six months before your mother brought you here. I think that study has been closed off sense then.”

As I watched her her eyes seemed like she was in another time as if I wasn’t even in the room let alone holding her hand. I sighed and stood placing my hands on her shoulders helping her stand from her chair.

“Come one Gran let’s get you to bed you’re tired.” She stood shakily as I grasped her arm to steady her.

“I do believe you are right dear.” I helped her to her room two doors down and helped her into bed. I pulled the quilt up around her shoulders and kissed her forehead pushing her soft white hair back. 

“Charlotte never forget how much I love you.” I looked at her with my brow furrowed and nodded running my hand down her hair. 

“Of course Gran and I love you, so much. Now rest. I’ll go make us some dinner and if you’re feeling up to it I will help you downstairs to eat at the dining table.” I watched as she closed her eyes her wrinkled face relaxing and breathing deeply.

“That sounds lovely my dear.” I smiled and stood closing her door soundlessly behind me. 

If I knew that would be the last time I would see her I would have said more. Told her I loved her anything so I could hear her voice once more. But, that’s not how death works.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that has read my story so far! Please comment and subscribe to be notified of any updates. Also thank you to my first two subscribers. I am extremely happy to learn that you enjoyed the first chapter enough to want to read more!

_**Eyes Wide-Meadowlark** _

I stood in front of the stained glass window of the town’s only Catholic Church watching the rivulets of rain race each other twisting along the glass. The church was silent as I watched and listened to the rain. What I had once thought was a comforting sound felt almost deafening at this moment. I felt a firm hand rest on my shoulder and turned my head to look at the man that it belonged to.

“Charlotte child, how are you doing?” I looked at Father Frank and shrugged slightly turning to look out the window of the Virgin Mother once more. With a sigh I felt as Father removed his hand from my shoulder that was covered in a thick black sweater.

“Charlotte your Grandmother and you have attended this church every Sunday for the last fifteen years. You have had me for meals at your home. I want you to know that, I, and the rest of this parish grieve with you.” I nodded, my eyes following a drop of rain catch momentarily on the hand of Mary before rushing to the sill.

“I know Father but…she is all that I had. I never knew my father, Grandma never talked about him and he was her own son, and my mother left me here when I was four.” I whimpered my tears welling suddenly. I sniffed using my sleeve to wipe my eyes. I heard Father Frank sit on the wooden pew that was situated behind me.

“Charlotte your Grandmother loved you so very much and God is with you right now. The entire parish is here for you. Katja Timberlain offered for you to stay with her and her husband for a few days.” I shook my head turning to face Father Frank.

“I need to go through Grandma’s things and decide what I want to do.” I leaned against the wall beside the stained glass window and stared at the crucifix that was situated above the tabernacle.

“Father Frank did you know my father? Granma Catherine has lived here her entire life.” I heard Father shift slightly in the creaky pew before responding.

“The Bates have been parishiners here for three generations Charlotte. The Bates’ boy, your father, disappeared when he was twenty and came back with your mother. He never caused trouble and you grandparents didn’t seem too concerned with the fact that he was gone for three years. Then he just left with your mother and four years later you arrived. I only knew him for a year Charlotte before he left. I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere and I couldn’t help but believe him. I walked to the aisle leading to the back of the church to the exit passing Father Frank.

“I’ll see you on Sunday Father.” I walked out into the pouring rain not even bothering to pull out the umbrella I had in my shoulder bag. The house was only a thirty minute walk from here.

I crossed my arms over my chest and walked quickly feeling as mud and water seeped into my black flats and soaked my dove gray dress. It had been two days since I had buried my grandmother in the small church graveyard. It had been a sunny Tuesday morning; the summer days fading into fall. I had gone upstairs to help her down to dinner when I found her. She was halfway off the bed her eyes opened staring into nothingness and not breathing. I shuddered slightly unsure if it was from the rain or the memory. I looked ahead shivering from the cold ad I saw the path up to the house peeking out between the small groves of trees.

I walked up the path that was now nearly flooded, the water submerging my feet completely. I looked up at the house and my chest warmed as my eyes watered and I began to sniffle. I reached the porch and opened the door slamming it quickly behind me. Looking down at my feet covered in mud I noticed a pool of water forming under them on the wood floor. I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag, and ran quickly upstairs to my grandmother’s sewing room. I looked at the table which held her journal exactly where she had left it only a few days before. I picked it up and clutched it tightly to my chest sobbing as I crumpled to the floor.

~&~

I opened my eyes slowly in the dark room hearing as the wind howled outside and my body shivered from the cold. I must have cried until I passed out without changing out of my soaked clothes. I slowly stood and set my Grandmother’s journal carefully back down. And proceeded to walk slowly to my room across the hall and into my bathroom, carefully peeling off my now stiff clothing the entire way. I stood naked in front of my bath tub and turned on the faucet filling the tub with hot steaming water. Once it was filled I stepped in ignoring the burn of the water on my skin and completely submerged myself under it. I held my breath with my eyes closed and tried to clear my mind but the image of a young man being shot burst forward.

I gasped still under water and quickly sat up coughing and causing water to splash over the rim of the tub and onto the floor. I clutched my chest feeling absolutely terrified. It had felt so real. I shakily got out of the tub once I finished cleaning myself of mud and warming up. I pulled on a long cotton night gown with a thick cable knit sweater over it and walked back into my Grandmother’s sewing room flipping on the light and illuminating the room.

I glanced at her desk which still had the locket and the portrait of the young man on its surface before sitting in Grandma’s embroidered chair. I tucked my feet under me and stared at the leather journal as the rain continued to pour outside. Slowly I reached out my hand and picked up the journal opening it to the first page. The page crinkled slightly with my touch as I traced the image of butchers broom carefully sketched with its uses written in neat script beside it. I smiled slightly flipping through several other similar pages before stopping on the first completely written page half way through the journal.

January 12, 1967

Charles showed me a portrait of a young woman in one of his history books.

She seemed so very familiar and I simply couldn’t place her. But when I looked

into her eyes in that beautifully painted portrait I noticed something. They look

so much like our son James’ and it terrified me. Charles told me her name was

Charlotte Hosack the daughter of a doctor from the late 1700s. How is it at all

possible to have such a strong resemblance to someone you’re not related to.

I felt my brow furrow in slight confusion and skipped a few pages and landed on an entry nearly a year later.

October 14, 1967

Charles has been locking himself in his study more and more often lately.

It worries me but he claims to be on to something. I wonder if this has anything to

do with the two months he was visiting ‘his cousin’. He has become obsessed with

the portrait and history of Charlotte Hosack. Several of his colleagues

have told him that she never existed. He has even gone so far as to interview several

Hamilton historians at Boston College who have researched David Hosack. Charles

told me he plans on writing to a direct descendent of Alexander Hamilton as well as one of David Hosack.

The obsession has gone too far I can’t understand his obsession with this young

woman. Maybe it’s the mystery of it that several others of renown question her

existence. Charles has even forgotten James’ second birthday.

I was so confused Grandma had always said that Grandfather was a history buff but not to the point that he would hound historians or the children of historical figures. None of this made any sense. I jumped slightly as the Grandfather clock downstairs struck nine. I shook my head and shifted into a more comfortable position on the chair and continued reading. There was a gap of two years before another entry was written.

June 29, 1969

I finally found this journal again! Charles, the daft man, had it in one of

his bookcases in his study. He is still attempting to research this woman Charlotte

Hosack claiming she felt to be family to him. I can’t understand it, but, he has

left me to my quilts and herbs so I’ll leave him to his books and dead women. If I

am honest her eyes still haunt me. I look at little James’ sweet face and I notice

more and more similarities between the two of them. Especially since Charles found

another portrait, this time of two children with her. The girl can’t be more than

twenty. Two years younger than I am now. The little boy is almost identical to James

except the hair. The baby’s hair is a chocolatey brown that must be from his father.

Charles is determined to find out more about this woman and it worries

me. Will Charles remember to spend time with his son? With me?

I figured the journal would talk more about Grandma’s inner thoughts maybe I would learn about my father but nothing. The only thing I learned is this Charlotte Hosack had the same first name as me and she looked eerily like my dad. I sighed and stretched out my legs listening to the rain tap on the window. I opened the journal once more to a random page.

 

August 6, 1984

I haven’t written in this journal for nearly twelve years and God have I missed it.

My little James is nineteen now and holes up in the study with his father. It seems that

James and Charles now have the same obsession with history and this mysterious Charlotte.

I have become more active in the search for this woman. Especially after Charles received a

reply from one of Hamilton’s descendants, none from Hosack’s. It arrived last January and its

contents sent a shiver through my body. The large package contained a box of letters from 1799-

1864, a portrait of Charlotte, her personal journal, a locket and a portrait of a young man who

looked exactly like James apart from the hair. The person sent nothing else, not even a letter 

explaining the objects. Nothing. We hung the portrait in the study and keep the journal in

Charles’ desk but everything else went into my sewing room. I dare not write why in here for

fear of the wrong person reading this journal and thinking us all crazy. The important thing is

Charlotte could potentially change history.

I looked over the entry twice more and was still confused by the ending. Charlotte Hosack was long dead wasn’t she? How could she “potentially change history”? I stood quickly, journal still in hand, and walked to Grandma’s room opening her jewelry box and pulled out the old wrought iron key that opened the study downstairs. I grasped the key tightly in my hand and all but ran down stairs nearly tripping over my night gown. As my feet hit the ground floor I slid slightly as I turned down the hall and jogged all the way to the last door at the very back of the house. I looked at the door hesitating as I raised the key to the lock my hand shaking. I don’t know why but something was telling me to unlock the door. I had never been curious before about what was in the study but something made me yearn to look.

With a deep breath I twisted the key in the lock and heard the small click that accompanied the action. I gently pushed open the door and was met with a pitch black room and reached in and flicked on the light switch that was to the right of the door. I stepped in as the lights warmed up and looked around. Nearly all the furniture was covered in sheets, the type you only saw in movies.

I sneezed slightly and glanced at the ground my feet were creating small foot prints in the thick layer of dust. I set grandma’s journal carefully down on what I assumed to be a chair based on the shape under the sheet. The west wall was covered in several floor to ceiling bookshelves which I walked slowly towards curious to see the titles. My fingers ran along the spines of several of the books, most had to do with the Revolutionary and Civil wars but my index finger stopped on one that I pulled carefully from the shelf. The book jacket was old and torn in one or two places. The image was a partial picture of an oil painting; it only showed the bodice and skirt of a dress with a woman’s hands in the lap. My eyes swept across the title carefully. “I Existed: The Mysterious Hamilton Wife” My brows furrowed but I merely shrugged and put the book back turning. When I did I was met with a sheet that appeared to be hung on a wall. I walked over and stood carefully on the chaise lounge below it and grasped the top of the sheet pulling it off as I stepped down.

The sheet stirred up dust doubling me over into a coughing and sneezing fit. When my lungs finally relaxed I stood straight and looked at the picture that I had uncovered. I felt as if I was looking in a mirror as my eyes met an identical pair in the painting. I searched the face that was an exact replica of my own. Charlotte Hosack looked exactly like me.

I stepped back hyperventilating and blood rushing through my ears. A sharp pain erupted in my head causing me to cry out. The same image of a young man being shot burst into my mind only clearer. I noticed more. He held a pistol pointed to the sky, his clothing wasn’t from my time, and his face. I’ve seen his face some where before. Then everything went black and my body limp. I had fainted.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has subscribed to receive updates of my work! As well as all the Kudos! I truly hope you will continue to enjoy this story as I wait with baited breath for my first review. Our dear Hamilton's will make an appearance in the very near future.

  _ **Nobody Knows-The Lumineers**_

I groaned feeling stiff with a splitting headache and slowly sat up. My night gown was covered in a thin layer of dust turning the once white cotton to a gray spotted thing. I leaned carefully against the dark mahogany desk clutching my head as if to push out the pain that was focused behind my eyes. I squinted carefully and glanced slowly out the window to see that the storm from last night had morphed into a light drizzle. With a low groan I stood up stretching causing my back to crack.

I looked at Charlotte Hosack’s portrait once more. Looking at the picture gave me an eerie since of déjà vu that didn’t make sense. A shiver raced up my spin making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned to face the desk, my back now to my ‘twin’. I began pulling open the drawers that were along the right side all of which opened far too easily for something that had been closed so long. The five drawers that I opened were filled with various research papers, letters, and old chocolate wrappers. I quickly shoved all of them shut being none to gentle with each of them. I slammed my hands hard on top of the desk with a loud thwack.

I was frustrated I had no freaking idea what was going on and I wanted to find this Charlotte Hosack’s journal. With a resigned sigh I slumped into the leather rolling chair that was to the left of me and spun slowly in it with my head tilted back. I closed my eyes as I stopped facing the desk once more and attempted to clear my thoughts. So far I knew that Charlotte’s existence was questionable, she could be my twin, my father and grandfather were obsessed with finding her, and my grandmother kept a hell of a lot from me growing up. Slowly I opened my eyes and saw another drawer one right above my knees. I quickly reached forward and grasped the handle yanking it only for it to remain shut.

“You have got to be f’ing kidding me…”I muttered as my eyes landed on the small lock situated next to the handle. There was no way I was going to find the key in this mess and for all I know the key could have been lost years ago. I stood from the chair and my eyes swept the room for anything I could use to pry open the drawer. The scissors wouldn’t work and the envelope opener was too flimsy. I walked out of the study and down the hall to the kitchen and swung open the pantry door. Quickly, I grabbed the drill that we kept on the shelf with various other tools in case small repairs needed to be made.

I grasped the drill in my hand placing the bit as I entered the study and made a bee line for the desk. I knelt in front of the drawer and placed the bit where the keyhole was and pulled the trigger of the drill. The bit on the metal made a screeching noise before the bit began to disappear into the keyhole. I released the trigger and shook the drawer forward opening it. I smiled to myself and set the drill on top of the desk before standing up and pulling the drawer open the entire way.

The only thing in the drawer was a thick dark brown leather journal and a letter with the name Charlotte Marie Bates written in a scratchy script. I pulled out the journal and set it on the desk beside the drill before pulling out the letter. The envelope felt heavy in my hands as I sat down in the desk chair. I flipped it over to the back and noticed that it was unopened and sealed with a clear wax. I picked up the small silver letter opener and sliced the top of the envelope and pulled out the four hand written pages that were concealed until now. The paper crinkled in my hands as I unfolded the papers and began reading.

My Dearest Charlotte Marie,

You will not have known me when you discover this letter and the likelihood of you ever knowing me is exceedingly small. My name is James Bates, your father, though not a very good one from the looks of things. Growing up in this house had me constantly surrounded by whispers of Charlotte Hosack. I can recall her portrait perfectly after seeing it in my father’s books a single time. I hated her for the longest time. Her name alone gave me an indescribable sense of dread and her image turned my stomach in knots. It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I understood why. But I have to start before that even.

My father’s need to unravel the mystery of Charlotte is what drew me in as I got older. It was the passion that I could see blazing behind his eyes whenever he found some new lead or when he regaled me with his findings. By my high school years I began to feel the call to put in my time to find out this woman’s story and little did I know that my father already knew who she was, but, I needed to discover it for myself. I spent years poring over my father’s books tracking leads across the country with him. It was during one of these trips that I had met your mother. God was she beautiful. Your grandfather was speaking to one of the professors of history at Penn State when I saw her. At first I thought she was Charlotte in the flesh but the eyes were wrong that’s when I started to realize who Charlotte really was.

When you were born Charlotte I realized exactly who Charlotte Hosack was. You my darling girl are THE Charlotte Hosack. I know that as you read this that it may seem impossible but upon reading Charlotte Hosack’s personal journal it was all confirmed. After your birth Charlotte your Grandfather gave me the journal. I read it cover to cover as well as the letters that we had received with it and I knew that none of us were crazy. The journal will explain it all to you. Your words will probably be more believable than mine, but my dearest Charlotte, you are going to have a wonderful life! Your letters and entries proved that to all of us and that is why we are taking every possible step to ensure that is your future. Don’t forget the dates September 14, 2015 or November 24, 1801.

All my love,

James Bates

What the hell had I just read? None of this made any fucking sense. Maybe there was some mental illness that my father and grandfather had, but, there is no way that this is true. I stuffed the pages back into the envelope and tossed it back into the drawer and stood. My entire family was freaking crazy. I picked up the old journal and my grandmothers before walking back upstairs and cleaning myself up. As I washed my mind kept going back to the picture of Charlotte Hosack the similarities between the two of us were bizarre to say the least but none of this could possibly be true could it?

I quickly dressed in jeans and a hoodie before sitting cross legged on my bed with Charlotte’s journal in my lap. I opened to the first page and examined the writing. It appeared correct for the time period but the way that the C’s and S’s curved were very similar to mine. I flipped to next page carefully before reading.

Well Charlotte you numpty you finally found this journal which means two things.

The first Grandma Catherine died three days ago and the second you are nineteen years

old. Now to prove that I am of course you, or should I say me? I? I’ll just say Charlotte

Now to prove that I am really Charlotte is when you were sixteen years old you and

Pammie Coulson went skinny dipping in her parent’s pool after getting home a little

tipsy from her brother’s house party. Now that that is out of the way we can get to

business. First get up off your bed and go into Grandma’s sewing room and grab

the letter that says “My Dearest,Lottie”, the portrait, and the locket. But first I must

stress do NOT open the locket yet or you are going to have a long fucking way to walk.

Trust me you don’t want that.

I felt my eyes widen as I read the first two pages and quickly stood. The only people that knew about the skinning dipping were myself and Pammie and neither of us were about to go blabbing about that drunken moment. I kept the journal clutched tightly in my left hand as I all but ran full tilt into the sewing room and to Grandma’s desk. I tossed the journal onto the chair and upturned the box of letters searching for the one that future, or is it past, me requested. I found it and quickly unfolded it my eyes skimming its contents.

My Dearest, Lottie

It pains me so to be away from you in your condition, but, mother says that the country air will do you and our much anticipated child well. From your last letter I do believe that that assumption has proven to be correct. I will be joining the three of you in a fortnight, after I have taken care of my last client until the birth of our child.

Lottie it is night time that I miss you the most. When I must lay awake with my thoughts and nothing but your side of the bed empty. My love for you, my dearest Lottie, burns just as brightly as when I first began to court you. I cannot wait till I can hold you in my arms once more and feel your warmth next to me at night.

With My Everlasting Devotion,

Philip H.

I blushed brightly and set the letter down amongst the others and picked up the journal once more now eager to know more.

Now Charlotte my assumption is that you read that steamy little love letter

Maybe not so steamy for the twenty first century but for the nineteenth it’s practically

pure unadulterated smut. Charlotte you need to save Philip, the idiot's mouth is just as

big as his father’s. I know that you have already read Father’s letter and he has told you

the two dates you need to remember. The first is the day that you will leave, the second, the

day our sweet husband gets himself shot. You will need to become Dr. Hosack’s ward

at least six months before that date. Hosack is a very kind man a widower who will be

called to attend Philip after he is shot. Philip is going to have an infected wound, but,

if you go with him Charlotte, you will save Philip. Philip’s death set in motion several tragedies

that need not occur.

Now on the date that you must leave you must take with you the locket that is currently on

the small portrait of our dear sweet boy George. You must be in Manhattan at No. 97 Chambers street

It is there that you must open the locket and you will be taken back to December 23,

1800\. David and his new wife will take you in from the cold and offer you shelter. That same

night a frantic mother will come to their door with her son. The little boy will have a high

fever. You will know what to do but you must use the opportunity to show your ability

to heal. Just make sure you do it Charlotte a lot is riding on you as is the happiness of

others beside our self. You will have a little less than a year to earn the trust of David

Hosack and save Philip don’t forget November 24, 1801.

The journal ended there, the rest was full of blank pages.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all those that have given me kudos for this story. It is truly lovely to see how many people seem to enjoy this story and it's characters so far. I will try to post chapters more often and I would love to hear from my readers. Criticism is welcome as well as positive comments. And to those wonder when Philip will show up in this story I have his first appearance planned to happen in two to three chapters. Also in case you haven't noticed the "chapter titles" are names of a song and the band to which they belong. I hope you all will check them out.

**_Indian Summer -The Likes of Us_ **

I shivered from the heavy gust of wind that flies through the sidewalks and alley ways of Manhattan. The noise of this city is almost deafening compared to the serene quite of my little home town in Maine. I pulled the hood of my short wool cape up over my head not even caring the mess that would be my curls when I pulled it back down. I quickened my pace down Chambers Street looking carefully at each of the building numbers to keep from missing number 97. I felt the cool metal of my silver locket press against my chest still unopened. I cursed as another gust of wind nearly caused my black wool skirt to fly up once more and silently thanked God for remembering to wear legging and knee high boots to ward off some of the chill.

            As I passed by building 96 I held my breathe until my eyes connected with the beat up black numbers that told me I had finally reached my destination. Number 97 Chambers Street. I stood there staring at the building that was once the home of David Hosack but was now a shoe store with an apartment above it. I slowly reached my right hand toward the locket grasping it in my shaking hand. This is crazy, I must have gone mad to think that what I’m about to do would work. Time travel was just in science fiction it was mad up better left to TV shows and badly mad movies. I took and hesitant step back and felt the heel of my shoe touch the curb causing me to fall momentarily before catching myself. I took several steps forward so I could lean against the buildings brick wall.

            I fiddled slightly with the locket as I examined it. The silver was tarnished from what must have been years of wear. The engravings of flowers and vines on its oval face still as clear as the day they would have been made. My thumb brushed against the latch causing me to shiver as an image of a man’s hands reached about my shoulders to place an identical locket about my neck. I blinked rapidly and held the locket gentle in the palm of my hand and stared at it. I had already spent seven hundred dollars to get here and I might as well open the thing even if I might be bat shit crazy. I glanced about to check if anyone was watching and waited till a woman in a fake fur coat past by before placing my thumb on the latch. The weight of the locket seemed to increase as I held my thumb there unable to open it quite yet.

            Suddenly thunder rumbled deeply in the sky before rain began to pour rapidly. I glanced up at the sky locket still in hand as lightning quickly ripped across the sky making me jump. Shakily I looked down and gently flicked it open, it was empty. Looking around me it appeared as if I was in the same time. I blushed in embarrassment and shook my head. How stupid was I to actually believe this shit? I took several steps forward waiting for the rain to begin drenching me as I closed my eyes tight. Slowly I opened my eyes and looked about the street and couldn’t believe my eyes. The rain wasn’t falling down! I slowly walked into the middle of the road looking around me at the sight of the rain falling up?! That’s when my eyes locked onto the sight of myself looking down at the locket leant against the brick wall. I watched as the woman in her fake fur coat seemed to walk quickly backwards.

            Did I eat bad mushrooms with my omelet this morning? This was friggin impossible right? I spun around and watched as time seemed to rewind itself. I watched as I walked backwards down the street as my skirt flew up. I turned once morning as was met with the taillights of a car rapidly came towards me. I screamed loudly and waited for the impact that was sure to come but there was none. As I opened my eyes to see what happened, the rewind seemed to speed up. I watched as buildings rose and fell. I watched as men, women, and children ran up and down the streets and as cars seemed to develop and the fashion changed. I looked down at my feet and watched as the asphalt below them faded away to pact dirt filled with horse hooves. I felt seasons change from summer to winter and winds rise and die.

            Finally the flash of seemingly never ending time travel slowed and began to give way to a frigid winter air with snow covering nearly everything. I shivered as time stilled once more to its normal progression. I turned finally to face number 97 Chambers Street and let out a small gasp that let me see my breathe. The exterior of the town house was beautiful. The front window’s curtains were left open to show off the candle laden Christmas tree. It all really happened! My family wasn’t crazy, but, how did they know?

            I don’t know how long I stood out in the snow covered street, it couldn’t have been more than an hour. I looked at my hands that had seemed to have taken on a bluish color and felt a shiver crawl its way my spin. I shakily approached the building taking the slippery steps carefully. I now felt my shivering increase. I’ve been out here far too long to be healthy.

            I reached for the knocker slowly and tapped it lightly against the door and waited for a response. I waited my hands now under my arms to warm them up even a little when no answer came for several moments and leaned to my left to catch a glimpse of someone in what I assumed to be the parlor. It appeared to be empty. With another fit of shivers I reached for the knocker and all but slammed it down on the door. This time I heard a hurried set off footsteps come to the door before it opened. I was met with the sight of an older women in a grayish dress covered by a batter stained apron.

            “Can I help you miss?” The women asked politely while looking at me with some suspicion when she saw what I was wearing.

            “I-Is th-this th-the H-hosack residence?” I managed to stutter out now clutching my short cape tightly about my shoulders.

            “Dr. and Mrs. Hosack are not interested in any ‘services’ that you may offer.” She said firmly beginning to shut the door. I quickly placed my hand on the door preventing her from shutting it all the way.

            “P-please ma’am I have nowhere else to go.” I cried out probably a little too loudly, but, I knew if I was out here mush longer I would get hypothermia from the cold.

            “Shhh! You’ll disturb the family!” she chided me attempting to shut the door once more. That’s when we both hear footsteps coming toward the door. The woman turned to look over her shoulder still trying to close the door on me.

            “Maggie what on Earth is going on? The children and I can hear all the way from my study!” came a man’s rumbling voice. I continued to hold the door open but it was becoming more and more difficult.

            “I am so sorry sir. This woman of the street is demanding entrance into your respectable home.” The woman I now knew as Maggie responded. I gasped shoving the door open enough to see the man.

            “Excuse me, but, I am most certainly not a prostitute.” I said proudly through my chattering teeth all the while looking at who I assumed to be David Hosack. He was a plump fellow with graying brown hair that lay on his forehead in a sharp widows peak.

            “Maggie go to the children they should have been in bed an hour ago.” Hosack said his welcoming brown eyes not leaving mine.

            “B-but sir!” The woman cried in what I can only assume to be horror.

            “Now Maggie” Dr. Hosack said firmly moving slightly so Maggie could pass by.

            I watched as Maggie the maid walked huffily down the hall and disappear upstairs. Dr. Hosack moved to the side and gestured me inside. Still shivering I took a step inside and was hit by the warmth that can only come from a large fireplace somewhere in the town house.

            “Follow me.” Dr. Hosack said gently before closing the front door and stepping into the parlor that was to the left of me. I looked down at my soaked boots and then at the dry hard wood floor that was covered by a knotted rug, when I didn’t follow immediately Dr. Hosack turned and gave a gentle smile while gesturing for me to follow.

            “Come along child. Maggie’s punishment will be cleaning up the small mess that you make.” He chuckled before disappearing through the door way. I slowly followed behind still worried about the mess that I was bound to leave behind. As I entered the parlor I was met with the warmth of the large fireplace and the soft glow of the candles from the Christmas tree. December 24. The day that future…present…past me said I would arrive. Did it take me a month to travel this far back? I was shaken from my thoughts by Dr. Hosack guiding me to sit on the foot stool by the fire place.

            “I’ll take your cloak you will dry and warm up much faster without it.” I followed the doctor’s instructions knowing them to be true and carefully shrugged it off and laid it beside the fireplace to dry. I held my hands and to the fireplace and gently rubbed them to regain some feeling in them and watched as David Hosack pulled a small rope beside the fireplace before sitting down.

            “So dear, what shall I call you?” I looked at him from the foot stool and noticed there wasn’t single cruel bone in this man’s body.

            “My name is Charlotte Marie Bates, sir. I’m from Maine” he nodded to my response and looked toward the flames of the fire as they licked at the logs.

            “Sir…” before I could ask my question I heard someone clear there throat behind us. I turned and watched as, what I could only assume to be a butler or sorts, walked in with a tea tray.

            “Dr. Hosack you requested tea, sir.” The man said, he sounded much nicer then Maggie.

            “Yes, thank you Eustace. You can leave it hear and retire for the night.” David said waving Eustace out with a small chuckle and smile. Eustace set the tray down on the small table beside Eustace and then left the parlor. I watched carefully as David prepared two cups in an all too familiar hand painted rose tea set. David handed me a cup and I quickly thanked him before taking a sip.

            “I believe you were going to ask me something before Eustace brought us our tea.” David said before taking a drink from his cup. I startled slightly from his sudden comment and looked down at the pocket of my cape that held the small silver locket.

            “I was going to ask why you trusted me enough to allow me into your home.” I replied now holding the tea cup in both hands my thumb tracing the familiar curve of the handle. I heard David shift in his chair and when I met his eyes he was leaning forward slightly.

            “I don’t trust you Charlotte. However I have met another person born out of this time. And you have his eyes.”

           

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for helping me get to 108 and views. Enjoy this new chapter as a Thanksgiving gift!

**_The Only Way Out- Bush_ **

I sat there staring at David Hosack reeling from what he had just said. He had met another like me; another person that wasn’t from this time, a man that had the same eyes as me. It couldn’t be. Had David Hosack possibly met my father? How long ago was this? I watched as David set down his tea cup and leaned forward slightly.

            “Charlotte I may not trust you but I will believe fully that you are not from this time just as I believed James Bates when I met him in Scotland. The tale was far too fantastical to not believe.” My mouth slowly opened to respond but no words could escape the tightening of my throat and the dryness of my mouth. David stood and handed me a quilt that was laid on the small settee that was pressed against the far wall. I clasped the worn fabric and wrapped it around my shoulders.

            “Dr. Hosack are you saying that you met my father in Scotland?” I asked shakily now staring into the snapping fire.

            “If your father’s name was James Bates, then, yes he was wearing quite peculiar clothing. I believed he called his trousers ‘jeans’.” David responded as he sat back down on the chair beside the fire. I slowly turned to face him still sitting on the footstool.

            “Then you must know why I’m here. If you trusted my father, especially after believing the story of his arrival in Scotland, you must trust me as well.” I looked up at David Hosack with pleading eyes. Picking up his tea once more David responded in his deep voice.

            “Miss Charlotte I spent six months with your father in Scotland my trust in him was cultivated through time and friendship. Even though you very well may be James’ daughter I personally have no knowledge of your endeavors that you hope to achieve.” I slowly nodded in response now unable to meet his eyes. I heard David clear his throat and the small tink sound as he set his tea cup down on the tray for the final time.

            “Charlotte you are more than welcome to stay here with my family. We will tell everyone that you are a distant cousin that is returning home from Scotland. You will be known as my ward and we will say that your father passed from pneumonia this past fall. I’ll have my eldest daughter Louise lend you some of her dresses till we can order some of your own.” I looked up at him as I felt my eyes well with tears. David Hosack was genuinely a kind man despite the fact he didn’t trust as far as he could throw me.

            “Thank you so much Dr. Hosack. You will never know how much I truly appreciate your actions and kindness toward me.” David stood and held out his hand to help me to my feet. I took his warm hand and slowly stood.

            “Come along Charlotte there’s a room upstairs for guests.” I followed David up the stairs my eyes wondering to the paintings and book cases that seemed to be in an ordered chaos. I smiled if I arrived here on December 24, 1800 that meant David had six children under the age of ten living in this house. David led me to a door at the beginning of the short hall way that must be my room.

            “I shall leave you here Charlotte. There should be something for you to sleep in inside the wardrobe. Those clothes will make you sick if you are in them much longer.” After that David disappeared down the hall and into what I assumed to be his and his wife’s room.

            I stepped into the room and was mildly surprised to see a low but warm fire burning in the fireplace. The room was small but cozy with a large four poster bed sitting pushed against the far wall piled with blankets and two long pillows. The wardrobe was to the right of the door and the changing screen was pushed against the far wall across from the fireplace. I walked to the wardrobe, shivering lightly from my wet clothing, and opened it. There folded neatly on the floor of the wardrobe was a stack of night dresses and wool stockings. I grabbed a night dress and a pair of stockings and walked quickly to the changing screen.

            Stripping down to my bare skin was a slight relief. The wet wool and cotton of my clothing had been plastered to my skin making it nearly impossible to fully warm up. I pulled the thick night dress over my head realizing that my auburn curls would most certainly be a huge mess. I stepped out from behind the screen stockings in hand and sat on the bed before pulling them on over my freezing feet. I quickly finger combed my damp hair and began braiding it only to realize I had nothing to tie it with. I sighed in defeat knowing my hair would be practically unmanageable the next morning. I crawled up the bed and laid my head on the pillows and curled beneath the warm covers of the bed. I closed my eyes finally warm after two hours. I would never again stay in the snow after ten o’clock.

XXX

I woke with a start shooting to sit straight up in bed. I squinted my eyes to read the time on the mantle clock. It was two in the morning meaning I had only slept for four hours and I was still in the year 1800. I shifted in bed hearing footsteps running up and down the hall and muffled voices from downstairs. I climbed carefully out of bed and took several steps to the bedroom door and pressed my ear to the cold wood to better hear the voices outside of it.

“Mistress! Dr. Hosack wants you to go back to bed. He says that there is nothing more we can do for the child.” I heard Maggie’s voice cry shrilly.

“Maggie I am going downstairs whether he wants it or not. The boy’s mother is going to need some form of comfort. I am certain of that much. Now Maggie, go back to the little ones in the nursery.” I took my ear from the door and slowly opened it to Maggie walking down the hall and into another room. As I went to close the door again a kind voice stopped me.

“Why you must be Charlotte my name is Mary! David told me that one of his cousins was going to be staying with us!” I opened the door fully to be met with the sight of a rather plain woman with mousy brown hair. She had a sad smile on her face and her brown eyes gave a sense of warmth in their depths. I gave her a shy smile while nodding my head.

“Hello.” I managed to stutter out as I watched her adjust her blue embroidered dressing gown.

“I’m afraid you have arrived on a rather grim night my dear. Woman has brought her poor baby here for a dreadful cold and the prognosis seems rather wretched.” She sighed shifting slightly on her feet and glancing down the staircase. That’s when it hit me, this was the sick child that past me, or future me, mentioned in the journal. I darted out the room and towards the stairs glancing back at Mary before descending the stairs.

“I know what to do!” I rushed down the stairs in nothing but my night gown  and swung into the study where I heard all the commotion. Upon entering the study I saw two things. A toddler bundled up on a settee and a young woman about my age crying and being comforted by Dr. Hosack.

“Charlotte what are you doing?” came Mary’s voice from behind me. I looked back at her and gave a bright smile.

“I can help I know how to bring down the fever. The child will be just fine.” I went to take a step into the room but was stopped by Mary’s hand clasping my wrist.

“Not like that you don’t” Mary responded blushing brightly and glancing at my night dress. That’s when I noticed Mary holding another blue dressing gown in her hand. She held out the robe and I took it quickly putting it on and tying it tightly around my waist. I stepped into the room the stockings on my feet muffling the steps I took into the room.

“David I know what to do.” I whispered standing slightly behind him but my eyes remained locked on the poor child. David handed the grieved mother to his wife who stepped forward to comfort the woman.

“Charlotte now is not the time…” David started glancing at the other two women in the room.

“David I know what to do.” I said stressing each syllable in hopes that he would listen. I turned to look at David, the mother’s cries become small sniffles. David glanced at the child behind us shivering in the mound of quilts that they had placed on him.

“Show me.” He whispered his face taking on a worried and hopeful expression. In a flurry of motion I ran to his doctors bag and began pulling out poultices and tinctures.

“I need white willow and meadowsweet for the fever…” before I could continue I was cut off by the child’s barking cough. I frowned slightly at the small child as I watched his whole body shake with the force of his coughing.

“I’ll also need dry mustard, flour, warm water, and cheese cloth for the cough. As well as pot of steaming water, New England Aster and peppermint for the congestion.” David nodded as I found a tincture of white willow and meadowsweet.

 I turned toward the child and knelt beside the settee slowly pulling the numerous blankets off of him. The poor child had sweat through every inch of his night shirt. I used my left arm to slowly prop the child up so I could get him to drink the liquid mixture. The child squirmed and continued coughing his tiny body almost seeming to convulse in my arms.

“Sh… sh everything is going to be alright.” I murmured softly in an attempt to calm and relax the little boy.

I popped the cork on the tiny bottle before bringing it to the child’s lips and I slowly tilted it up allowing the liquid to run down his throat. The child spat sputtered slightly and I pulled the small bottle from his lips once it was emptied. I carefully laid the child back down and began to strip him of the sweat soaked blankets and his night shirt. I pulled the driest of the blankets back around him before standing up once more. I turned and came face to face with David and Eustace their arms laden with the supplies that I requested. We set out the supplies on David’s desk so I could begin doing what I needed to in order to help the little boy.

David handed me a mortar and pestle and I immediately began grounding the aster and peppermints into a fine powder. The scents of both immediately permeating the air and opening my sinuses. I poured the powder into the cast iron pot of steaming water and instructed Eustace to place it by the little boys head so the steam could reach his little nose. Next I began working on the mustard poultice. I quickly poured thee ground mustard and the flour onto the middle of the cheese cloth then folded the cloth over and tied it tightly before placing it into the warm water to soak. I felt a light touch on my shoulder as I went to take the mustard poultice out. I turned to look at the owner of the hand and was met with the tear stained face of the boy’s mother.

“Thank you miss…thank you so very much.” The woman sniffled out and then walked to sit on the end of the settee by her child’s feet. I walked over caring the now soaked poultice and peeled the blanket back from his chest. I could already tell that his fever had gone down quite a bit. I carefully placed the warm poultice on his heaving chest and pressed lightly on it so it spread the smallest bit. I sat on the floor beside the settee and smiled weakly at the mother before allowing my gaze to watch the steady rhythm of the boys chest. I felt David’s large hand pat my shoulder lightly.

“You did good work Charlotte. Job well done.” I watched as David began cleaning up the mess that was his desk with the help of Eustace and Mary. I leaned my head on the cushioned settee and felt my eyes become heavy before closing.

XXX

            I awoke to something stirring near my head. I slowly lifted my head my right hand trying to massage the crick in my neck. I sat up fully to the clock in the hall chiming 5 o’clock in the morning and the little boys big honey colored eyes looking into my blue green ones.

            “Where’s Mumma?” The little boy asked and almost immediately the woman sat up and clutched the little boy to her chest.

            “Mumma’s here Johnny. Mumma is right here.” The woman managed between tears. I gave a small smile my knees creaking slightly as I stood from the hard ground. I turned toward the door and began to walk out in order to give the happy mother and son some privacy. I exited the door and closed it softly behind me and was met with the sight of Maggie’s wrinkled face with a try of covered dishes in her hands. She cleared her throat slightly her eyes watering slightly.

            “I-I wanted to thank you for what you did Miss Charlotte. That’s my daughter and grandson in there. Thank you.” I gave her a soft smile and felt my body relax slightly.

            “Of course Maggie.” I responded tiredly.

            “I’ll bring your breakfast to your room. The rest of the family is asleep you should be too.” I nodded and moved to the side so Maggie could enter the study leaving me alone in the hall. I leaned slightly against the wall as I felt exhaustion creep over my body. A small smile came across my face thank God that Granma taught me as well as she did. I pushed carefully off the wall pulling Mary’s leant robe tighter around my body to ward of the town houses morning chill and walked silently up the stairs and into my room. I opened the door and all but fell into the bed my body half over the edge. I prayed a silent prayer to God thanking him for allowing that child more time on this earth before falling once more into a deep sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> My story while inspired by Miranda's musical is based more on the actual historic people and places. I truly hope that you will enjoy the story.   
> This story is also available on fanfiction.net and fictionpress.net under my username ViridianRock. If you see this story anywhere else please let me know and report it.


End file.
